


Something Less Certain

by Aipilosse



Series: Fëanorian Week 2021 [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Boats and Ships, But I suppose Sam is in the same position, Canonical Character Death, Forgiveness, Gen, I don't know anything about building a boat, Maglor and Hobbits, The best part about writing this is that I now have some headcanons for Sam's children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-21 19:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30026904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aipilosse/pseuds/Aipilosse
Summary: With the sea-longing growing, Sam makes plans to go West. He'll need some help to actually set sail though.
Relationships: Sam Gamgee & Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: Fëanorian Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208312
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	Something Less Certain

It was a blustery winter’s day when Samwise Gamgee sat down to write the letter at last. The fire was crackling in the study at Bag End, but he could hear the wind howling outside and Rosie coughing from the other room. 

He paused for a moment, ready to set down the quill and go to her if the coughing continued. It stopped, and Sam set quill to paper with a sigh.

_ Dear Master Legolas, _ he began. He stared hard at the words. They didn’t seem quite right. Maybe lord was the right title? After all, Legolas had led a group of Wood-Elves to Ithilien. Or maybe prince was correct? No, that was certainly wrong; while he did not have the closest relationship with Legolas, he had never introduced himself as a prince and Sam had never used that title. He would stick with ‘master.’

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I fondly remember our visit to Gondor and the beauty you and the other elves have drawn out of Ithilien. What do you do in your flets in the winter? It seems like it would be mighty cold up there with no walls, although it’s a great deal warmer in Gondor than it is here.  _

_ How is Master Gimli? I already sent him a letter thanking him for the leg braces he made for little Boromir, but if you see him, thank him again for me. Boromir is even able to walk in the deep snow we have now, and he is having so much fun this winter.  _

_ Most of my family is well. Goldilocks and Faramir’s crowd are happier than daisies, and little Legolas is walking and talking up a storm. Most recently, I have become a grandfather for the twenty-second time this past fall. Baby Lily is doing quite well, according to Young Tom, and I look forward to seeing her again in the spring. She will probably already be smiling at everyone she meets by then, and babbling as babes do. _

_ Rosie is not as hale as she used to be. The cold seems to have settled into her bones, and I fear this may be our last winter together. I hope we can see the spring, and pick out the seeds we will plant one more time.  _

Sam paused his writing and scratched his nose. It was time to get to the point.

_ I’ve been feeling strange myself recently. Not poorly, I am still fortunate to have my health despite my age. No, I have been feeling almost itchy, like there is a place in my mind that I cannot reach no matter what I try to think of. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see white gulls on an endless blue horizon, and waves beat in my ears. I remember you telling me about such thoughts and feelings when I asked you about the sea-longing. I did not think such things could afflict Hobbits, but here we are. No, again I avoid my meaning. I have heard the sighing of the waves for a long time, but I did not realize what it truly was it until recently. _

_ Is there any way you have found to soothe these feelings? I’m an old Hobbit, and not one of the Fair Folk; the way West is closed to me. I try to think about my many children and grandchildren, and the joy they will bring me for years to come, but I still have an unquiet desire in my heart. _

_ I wish you all the best my friend, and look forward to hearing from you. _

_ Much love, _

_ Samwise Gardner _

He sent the letter off the next day, knowing that it would be many months until Legolas received it. The roads were much better and the trip was safe now that there was a king again, but the seasons still turned, and the snow still fell, and it would be a long time until a messenger made it to Ithilien.

~

Rosie died on Mid-year’s Day of that year. She had helped him choose the seeds that they planted and saw many of their choices bloom. That evening Sam had carried her out to the garden and sat down with her in her favorite spot. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and never woke up. 

That was very hard to bear.

Sam received Legolas’ reply while there were still relatives about and underfoot from the funeral. He put the letter carefully aside in his study, and only returned to read it once everyone had cleared out, and it was only himself, Young Frodo, his wife Ruby, and their children at Bag End again. 

The envelope was fat, and when he opened it several pressed leaves and flowers spilled out. Sam examined them carefully before paging through the contents of the envelope. He found a slip of paper with illustrations of the samples Legolas had sent with the Sindarin and Westron names of the plants and short descriptions.

Sam spread everything from the envelope out on the desk, feeling like he was uncovering a mystery. There were several lists in Westron and Sindarin, and one in what he could only assume was Khuzdul. In addition to the plants and their notes, there were also some drawings of flets and cottages. There were several pages with words on it; two appeared to be poems, and one was the letter itself. The paper that Sam looked the longest at was a blueprint of a boat. 

His heart beating a little bit faster, Sam read the letter.

_ Dear Mayor Samwise Gardener, _

_ Receiving your letter was a joyous occasion, although the news you shared was both sweet and bitter. May Elbereth’s blessings continue to fall on you and your growing family, and may you always walk in starlight. I am sorry to hear about Mistress Rose’s health. I never feel so young and old at the same time as when I realize my mortal friends’ time is drawing nigh. I hope her passing is easy, and that she is surrounded by those she loves.  _

_ I have included some materials that may answer your questions from your letter. By the time this letter reaches you, I will have seen Gimli again, and you can rest assured that I have given him your thanks; he will be glad to hear that young Boromir is liking the braces he crafted.  _

_ I have thought much about your last question. There is no way to soothe the sea-longing I have found. It ebbs and flows, getting worse in the spring and sleeping in the winter most of the time, but it never truly goes away. The most you can do is bind your heart to something on this shore, and hope that the pull of that outweighs the call of the sea. _

_ I am sorry that I have no better advice to suppress the longing. I do have some other advice to share, though I am not one for deep counsels or canny wisdom. _

_ I think you should sail West. I have found if you follow your heart, a way will be laid before you, even if none appeared before. If the Straight Road was open for Frodo, it may be open for you. I would take you if my heart were not bound in some ways still to Middle-earth. I can’t help but think that there are many in the West now who would gladly petition that you be allowed to enter. If all of that did not move you, I leave you with one last thought: You have dared more for something less certain. _

_ Yours, _

_ Legolas _

Sam pondered the contents of the letter for a long time. He thought about it as he tended the garden through the summer. He thought about it as he played with little Lily when Tom and Marigold came to stay. He thought about it as he smoked a pipe on the porch in the evenings. Finally he made up his mind. He would wait until the peak of the harvest season, make sure all his affairs were in order, and then he would leave on the Birthdays.

September 22, 1482 dawned fair and clear. He had made sure to see all his children and grandchildren throughout the month, so he was ready to say a short farewell to Frodo, Ruby, and the grandchildren. 

He rode whistling to the Tower Hills, feeling much like he imagined Bilbo had felt leaving Bag End for good all those years ago. 

Elanor made a half-hearted attempt to dissuade him from leaving.

“There’s no one in the Havens. Least ways none that I can see. I told you about that Dad — how me and Fastred took Young Sam, Ivar, and Boti down to the shore to see the elves, and none were there.”

“They say Lord Círdan won’t sail until the Last Ship leaves.” Sam was not too perturbed by Elanor’s news, and kicked the ball he was playing with back to Boti.

“Who’s they?” said Elanor with exasperation.

Sam shrugged. “Now don’t worry about your old Dad. He knows a thing or two about elves, though on no accounts what Mister Bilbo knew, but still, I’ll be fine, elves or no elves.”

“You’re not a young man any more,” Elanor protested. “You can’t just go tramping about the wilds on your lonesome.”

“Ha!” said Sam. “I’m tougher than I look, and still feel fit as a fiddle.”

Elanor tried for a bit longer to get him to stay, but she knew as well as he did that his mind was made up. Sam stayed the night with his daughter, and in the morning gave her the Red Book of the West March.

It was only a few hours walking at a quick pace to the Havens from the Tower Hills. When he arrived, he found it much as Elanor had described: Abandoned, with the sea breeze whistling through empty stone buildings. It was lonely, but there was still a wholesome feeling in the air, and Sam knew he would sleep soundly at night. 

In his youth, he would have been kicking himself at this point, calling himself a fool and a ninnyhammer for coming to the Havens with no more than a blueprint and only the slightest knowledge of ship building or sailing. Now though he had no harsh words for himself and calmly began to explore the empty docks. 

His search found nothing. He had wondered if he might find a ship here still, or perhaps a clue to where Círdan went, but nothing appeared. He found a comfortable spot, out of the wind, and was about to start dinner when he heard a strain of music on the edge of his hearing.

Sam didn’t think twice about following the music. The blessing of the Elves was still laid on this land. Besides, anything nasty would find a tougher meal than they would like in the hardy old hobbit. 

As he honed in on the sound, the music coalesced into a haunting, mournful tune. It was definitely elvish, but it sounded even sadder than the wistful elvish songs that Sam was familiar with. As he crept closer, he began to recognize some of the words. The singer didn’t sing in Sindarin, which Sam could speak and understand quite well at this point in his life. He thought that it was Quenya, but he didn’t know all the words. 

Now Sam faced a decision. He could continue his stealthy tread and see if he could spy the singer before his presence was detected. Hobbits move very quietly, and the singing provided some cover. On the other hand, the singer was elvish, and he found that elves seemed to know what was about with more than their ears and eyes. 

He decided to make his presence known as he approached. He took what he thought of as heavy ‘Mannish’ steps, intentionally stepping on sticks and leaves. 

He entered the clearing and finally saw the singer. He looked like no elf Sam had ever seen before. His hair used to be black, but was now streaked with grey. And grey it was, not silver like some of elvenkind had. His face was lined and careworn and he wore a mix of rags and hides; Sam hadn’t seen a more beggarly looking fellow in years. When his eyes opened though, Sam gasped in recognition. The eyes were bright and blue, such that he hadn’t seen since he said goodbye to Galadriel years ago. 

He quietly sat down on a fallen log to listen to the rest of the song. The elf didn’t stop singing or falter at all — he appeared to take no notice of his new audience member.

The elf sang a last clear note. He finally turned and looked at Sam, but still did not speak. 

“That was a right beautiful song, Master Elf,” Sam said. “I hope you don’t mind that I came to listen. I was nearby and wanted to see who was singing so beautifully.”

“And are you satisfied with what you see, Master Hobbit?” the strange elf replied.

Sam scratched his head. “Well, no, now that you mention it, I have a few questions now that I’ve seen you.”

“And who says I am in the mood to answer them?” The elf bared his teeth in what may have been a smile, but was more reminiscent of a wolf guarding his food.

Sam looked at the elf carefully, taking in his sword strapped to his hip. Every elf Sam had ever met had been a good person, but he had heard tell of elves who had done terrible deeds in the past, and goodness did not necessarily mean safety. 

“I mean no offense. I am happy to hear some elvish music, no matter how sad, and can just be on my way if you have no desire to speak with another.”

“What do you know of elvish music? From what I know of your kind, you like to keep to yourselves.”

Sam settled back, taking the question as a sign the elf wasn’t as standoffish and he first appeared. “That is true of most of us, yes. But I’m afraid I was corrupted at a young age with tales of elves and I’ve had a taste for fair things ever since.” 

“Have you spoken with elves before?” the elf asked, with a raised eyebrow. 

“nása,"[1] Sam replied.

Now both eyebrows were raised. “Ma istal quet' Quenya?”[2]

“Pia.”[3] Sam grinned; he knew it wasn’t quite the right way to say it, but he was happy he’d made it this far. He’d only ever really learned how to read Quenya, although he had heard a bit over the years. 

The elf actually smiled back, although the expression still looked a little uncomfortable on the thin face. 

“You are no ordinary traveler,” the elf said.

“Neither are you,” Sam replied. 

“Very true.” The elf cocked his head to the side and gave Sam a look so intense he felt as if his insides were on display. “So, you listened to my song; do you have a song to share with me?”

Sam brightened a bit — here they were in familiar territory. Over the years, his bashfulness over sharing song and poetry with others had faded. “I know a great many songs, Master Elf, though only a fraction of what you know I’m afraid. Let’s see if I can think of one for the occasion.”

He rifled through the songs he knew, trying to find one to share with this stranger. There was one that had been lurking in his thoughts for some time. He had only heard it a few times, but he had made a point of writing it down and humming the melody to himself to remember it.

“Now, I thought a cheerful song might be in order after that tear jerker you were singing, but I think all I can manage is bittersweet:

_ Day is ended, dim my eyes, _

_ but journey long before me lies. _

As Sam sang Bilbo’s Song, the muttering and murmuring of the sea grew in his heart. He hadn’t understood what Bilbo had meant about hearing the call at the time, but now it was all he could think about.

The song ended and Sam blinked back an errant tear. He looked at the elf and was surprised to see his face was drawn as if in terrible pain. His right hand was closed in a tight fist and clutched to his chest.

“‘Farewell to Middle-earth at last.’ Alas that I could say such a thing!”

“Begging your pardon Master Elf, but I had not thought the way was closed to your kind. The Havens seem empty now, but I know that Lord Celeborn at least will sail someday. And my friend Legolas will too, and maybe many others that linger here.”

“I do not think there is a place for one such as I in the Blessed Realm.”

Sam looked at the elf carefully and ran through the old tales in his mind. It didn’t add up — all the elves he’d heard of who’d done terrible deeds were dead, weren’t they? 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name Master Elf?” Sam knew it was a gamble; ancient ones seemed to keep their names close.

“Now that would be telling.”

“I know folk such as yourself hold that there is great power in names and naming, so perhaps it would help to give my own first. I’m Samwise Gardner, former mayor of Hobbiton, Counselor of the North Kingdom, and the companion of Frodo Baggins during the War of the Ring.” He didn’t know if any of those things would mean anything to the ragged elf, but he thought at least one would spark recognition.

“I seem to struggle to make new memories these days,” said the elf. “But I at least have heard of the destruction of Sauron and the small heroes who were the cause of his downfall. And you are one of them! I see I am in the presence of greatness.” Sam looked at him suspiciously, but could detect no note of mockery in his voice.

The Elf shook his head, as if to clear it. “I may as well share my own name, after you so graciously introduced yourself. I am Maglor, son of Fëanor.” He held up his right hand, showing a red and blistered palm shot through with grey.

Sam’s mouth dropped open, and a great deal that hadn’t made any sense became clear. “Well, now I’ll be!” was all he could manage.

“So you have heard of my deeds as well,” said Maglor. “And now you know why I may not go West.”

Sam eyed the sword again, but his mind was turning. Here was one who had known all the old tales, and lived many of them. And he was the greatest singer in the world to boot, or at least that’s what they said. After hearing his song earlier, he believed it.

“Is that the way of it?” was all Sam said. “I suppose banishment is not the worst punishment after all the bad you did.”

“Years of torment I deserve, and as the world has turned, I have begun to understand that years of torment I will get. Every step is haunted, and loneliness eats my heart. Soon enough I will fade, until conscious thought is gone, and all that remains is a mad, wailing spirit.”

“Now that’s the grimmest thing I’ve heard in a long while, and I’ve heard the dead singing in the Barrow Downs,” Sam said, appalled. “That doesn’t seem right to me.”

“It is just,” whispered Maglor.

“Is it?” asked Sam. “I’ve found justice only gets you so far over the years. Justice will bring some satisfaction, and that’s fine enough, but it won’t get you peace, and that’s better.”

Maglor frowned at him, seemingly disturbed by this small young thing dispensing ideas on justice and peace. “Surely you agree I deserve some sort of punishment though, for all the death and grief I wrought?”

“Certainly,” said Sam. “But you’ve been out here a very long time, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Ages upon ages, but —”

“And when’s the last time you did something bad?” Sam interrupted.

Maglor gave the question careful consideration. “I stole some bread and some vegetables off a porch in the Tower Hills.”

“Were you hungry?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” said Maglor.

“Well, now that wasn’t a good thing to do, you should have asked, but if I know those folk, and I do, I suspect they left it out for you on purpose.” They had likely put it out because of the old superstition that it kept away mischievous spirits, but Sam suspected elves were the cause of many such legends, so it was right enough to say that the food had been left out for Maglor. 

“Now, you’ve done many an ill thing, and you have suffered for it,” Sam said. “Now that’s justice if you like, but when I was helping fix up all the troubles from the war, I found we needed something else. We needed those that did ill to try and make it right, and those who were wronged to decide what they could live with from them. It wasn’t always easy, but we found a place for all in the end, and no hobbits were kicked out. If us simple folk were able to do such a thing, I’d think the elves could manage it too.”

Now it was Maglor’s turn to gape at Sam. “You think I should try to make what I’ve done right?”

“Seems like a more useful thing to do than moping on a beach, begging your pardon for my bluntness. Your songs are right pretty, but what’s the use if there is no one to hear them but the odd elderly hobbit?”

Maglor stared at Sam a long while, his look no longer piercing; he just looked puzzled, and a little sad. Finally he said, “You’re not what I expected, Mayor Gardner.”

“Well, that’s alright then. It seems you have had a mighty long time with only yourself for company. I’m sure someone disagreeing with you comes as a shock.” Sam looked up at the dimming sky, and his stomach rumbled. “Now I was just about to start dinner when I heard your song. Would you like to join me for the meal? It’s just some cured sausages fried up with some vegetables I found and some herbs, but I daresay it will still be tasty.”

“I suppose,” said Maglor, too surprised to put up much of a fight. “I have some dried fruit and nuts, but I’m afraid that’s all I can offer right now.”

“You hold onto those; this is only my first night out in the open since leaving my daughter’s house. We may eat your fruit and nuts later Master Maglor, but for tonight I can be the cook.”

~

Sam ended up making camp with Maglor that night, although he gave Maglor's sword careful consideration before doing so. He woke up early, as was his wont while sleeping outside. Maglor was already up, had built up the fire, and was now staring moodily into it, just as Sam had left him the night before. Sam wondered if he’d slept at all. 

“Good morning,” Sam said cheerfully. Maglor didn’t answer and continued to stare into the fire. 

Sam paid him no heed and began to fry up some sausages for breakfast and boil water for tea. When breakfast was ready, he set a plate and mug in front of Maglor and got down to the business of eating. 

Maglor looked warily at the plate and mug and then back at Sam.

“Where I live, it’s considered quite rude not to clear your plate when it’s served,” Sam said mildly.

Maglor grimaced and began eating the sausages. After a few bites, he devoured them with all the alacrity he had last night. When the sausages were finished, Sam fried up some hot cakes in the leftover grease and served them up to both of them. Maglor ate those too.

After breakfast Sam took the diagrams Legolas had sent and made a great show of examining them, scratching out notes in the dirt. It was all unnecessary — he knew exactly how much wood he needed to gather. What he didn’t know was how he was going to cut and shape it once he had it, but one thing at a time.

After he felt he had spent a satisfactory amount of time examining the blueprint, he stood up and nodded to Maglor.

“Thank you for sharing the camp with me. Now if you don’t mind, I have some business to attend to.” Sam walked off to gather wood.

Sam spent all day at his task. He found several good pieces of driftwood, but the rest he had to chop down himself. It was tiring work for an old hobbit, and Sam stopped several times for rest and a bite to eat. 

Late in the afternoon, he found Maglor. He appeared to have gathered some mussels and was cleaning them. “Dinner,” he said with a nod.

“Excellent!” Sam said. “But first, I was wondering if I could get your help, if you have a moment.”

“I suppose so, Master Gardner. What do you need assistance with?”

“I have some trees back in the woods, and I’ll need some help getting them to the beach.”

“You need me to drag some logs?” Maglor looked a little insulted.

“Yes. You’re much larger than me, and a great deal stronger too by the look of it.”

Maglor looked at him dubiously. “Very well.” Sam had the distinct feeling that Maglor was only agreeing out of curiosity. Curiosity was better than the listlessness he’d seen this morning though.

Sam took Maglor to the trees he had felled, and together they rolled them to the beach.

Near sunset, they looked at the pile of wood they had gathered.

“Is this enough?” Maglor asked.

“By my calculations it is,” Sam replied.

Maglor opened his mouth, but then closed it, refusing to ask the obvious question.

“Time for a well deserved dinner!” Sam strode back to camp, not waiting for a response from Maglor.

~

The next day, Sam spent more time examining the diagram Legolas had sent. How he was going to make boards out of the logs was a mystery to him. He had split them in half yesterday, but he didn’t have a planer or a whip saw. He supposed he could hew all the logs, but that seemed like a great deal of trouble.

“You don’t happen to know of a sawmill around here?’ Sam asked Maglor.

“No.” Maglor’s reply was curt.

“Ah well,” Sam said, and laboriously cracked his back.

Maglor looked up and opened his mouth several times, words at the tip of his tongue. Sam had just given up on anything coming out when Maglor finally said, “Seems a significant oversight to come to the sea to build a boat, and not have any plan to make boards.”

Sam sighed with a weariness that was only partly feigned. “You see, I’d hoped to find some elven folk still here, perhaps with some boats. These plans were a last resort. But I can’t find any elves, save yourself, so I suppose I must build my own boat if I am to sail.” 

Sam made his way down to the beach and began to hew the logs he’d need for the boat. It was slow going – they had a saw mill in Hobbiton and it had been long since Sam had constructed anything. He’d built his fair share of sheds and spare rooms though, so the concepts weren’t unknown to him. 

Still, when it was late morning, and only one of the dozens of logs was hewn into boards, he began to think he’d made a mistake not asking his grandson Elfstan to help him. He would have tried to dissuade him from sailing though, so there was nothing for it but to keep working. 

Sam went to get his water skin and noticed Maglor watching him from part way up the beach. Sam waved. Maglor did not wave back. Nonetheless, when Sam walked back towards the logs, Maglor followed him.

Sam began to score the log.

“That seems like a great deal of trouble for a boat you’re not sure you can make, to sail to a place you’re not sure will allow you in.”

“It is,” Sam agreed. “But I’m afraid my mind is made up.”

Sam picked up his axe again.

“Wait,” Maglor said. “I know an easier way.” 

“Well, I’d be much obliged.”

“Hammer in a wedge at the thickness you want.”

Sam followed Maglor’s directions and then stepped back. Maglor pressed down on the wedge, and sang a single phrase of descending notes. Sam thought he could almost understand the words, but the meaning eluded him. 

On the last ringing note, the log split precisely where the wedge had been set.

“Now that’s a sight easier than chopping it with an axe.”

Maglor almost smiled. “It’s tiring in its own way after a time. Still, I think it will be a good deal faster.”

It was faster. By the end of the day, eight more of the logs had been split into boards, each looking a great deal smoother than the first log Sam had hewn by hand. 

That evening they dined on shellfish Maglor had trapped, some seaweed Sam had been skeptical of but turned out to be tasty, and some roasted roots.

The next morning, Maglor was the one the examining Legolas’ blueprint and muttering, although his concentration was not feigned. 

“Samwise, you were never going to be able to build this boat without a deeper craft than you possess.”

“Is that so.” Sam scratched his head. “I’ll have to let Master Legolas know the next time I see him.”

Maglor marched off to the beach plans in hand.

~

The work went quickly after that. Maglor led the way most days, using his magic to shape the wood. Sometimes he and Sam worked with carving knives to whittle joinery or other small details needed to fit the pieces together. Occasionally, Maglor had what Sam termed a bad spell. He wouldn’t remember Sam, or would call him other names. On those days, Sam resigned himself to working on the ship by himself. Maglor frequently wandered away from camp, and Sam would sometimes hear his mournful songs born on the wind. 

On one occasion, Maglor walked off around noon one day and didn’t appear again until three days later. By that time, Sam had been at his wits end, partly because he couldn’t curve the hull correctly without Maglor, but more so because he was worried about him.

When Maglor stumbled back into camp, bleeding from a scratch on his face and with sleeves more torn than when he left, Sam jumped to his feet.

“And where have you been?” Sam demanded.

Maglor looked at him blankly. “I was searching.”

“Searching for what?”

“I, I don’t know.” Maglor began to look around frantically. “Where did it go? It was very important.” He began to rifle through one of the bags, casting out clothing and tools with no regard to where they landed.

“Say, there’s no need to go through that.” Sam approached cautiously and tried a tack that had worked when his children had lost something and needed distracting. “Lost things’ll stay lost until they're found, and they won’t get loster in the meantime. Oftentimes a good rest is all that’s needed to recall the place you put it last.”

Maglor looked at him wide-eyed. “What am I to tell Nelyo?”

“Tell him to look for it himself,” Sam said, desperately hoping this was the right answer.

Maglor stared at him for a long moment and then began to laugh. The laugh started off well enough, although Sam uneasily realized that he had never heard Maglor laugh before. Soon though the laugh became higher pitched, a wildness creeping into the tone. When the laughter sounded like a shriek Sam backed away, and glanced to his pack where his knife was hidden. He didn’t think that would be much use though; Maglor was still strong and quick, even if his mind seemed to be failing tonight. 

Abruptly the laughter stopped, and Maglor cast himself onto the sand, laying completely still. After several minutes had passed, Sam crept closer. Maglor didn’t move. 

Sam sat up all that night, uneasily watching the prone figure as the stars slowly turned above their heads. 

The next morning, Maglor arose, brushed the sand off, and asked, “What’s for breakfast?”

“I found some eggs yesterday that I can fry up,” Sam said, still looking at Maglor warily.

“A good find, my friend.” Maglor said no more and began to build up the fire. 

That night was the worst of what Sam saw, but it was enough to make him decide that he was not leaving Middle-earth alone.

~

All told, it took about a month to craft the ship. It was a little rough, the boards were not even in width, and there was always a risk of getting a splinter, but it would keep more water out than in, thanks to the tight joins, curing, and some singing from Maglor. 

Sam knew it was an astonishing stroke of luck that Maglor had been able to help him. It was starting to get cold — they had awakened with frost covering everything a few times now — and Sam would have soon had to stop work and decide between going home, wintering in the empty havens, or perhaps trying to go south by himself. He remembered Frodo’s retelling of a conversation between him and Gandalf by the fire at Bag End so many years ago. Perhaps Maglor’s appearance was due to something more than luck, and that was a heartening thought.

The sail was found in an empty home, which Sam thought was left for any who wished it. If not, he left a note that Elanor Fairbairn could reimburse. 

One windy October day, they were able to half roll, half drag the ship into the sea and tether it to the docks. 

“Well,I suppose this is it.” Maglor planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the ship. “This was a surprising undertaking with an even more surprising companion. I do not begrudge you the time — it’s been many years since I have felt so satisfied.”

He turned to Sam. “Farewell my friend. Good journeys to you.”

“Now hang on a moment!” Sam felt uncomfortable with Maglor bundling him off onto the ship posthaste. “I need my things, and I will need to gather food for several weeks at sea. And I wouldn’t want to leave in the afternoon.”

Maglor narrowed his eyes at Sam. “Very well. Let’s find you some food.”

That night, over roasted rabbit and roots, Maglor outright asked what had been implied in his gaze earlier.

“Through much labor your boat is finished, Samwise. Yet I sense a reluctance on your part to leave, now that it comes to it.

“Is that so strange?” Sam replied. “Middle-earth is all I’ve known, and I’m a true hobbit through and through — I like my home, and I worry about being a stranger in a strange land.”

“Then why do you want to leave? You have children who love you and will care for you, and that is a great gift. Why would you leave all of that love?” Maglor’s voice broke at the end, and his eyes seemed to shimmer more than shine.

“I’ll miss my children dearly, and they are a great treasure to me, but I lost another treasure over the sea years ago.”

“And you know this treasure of yours is still there, in Aman?” Maglor asked. 

“No, I don’t know that, anymore than I know if the Straight Road will be open to me. I think I must try though.”

“It must be a great love indeed if you will leave your children and risk the unknown for it.”

“It is,” Sam said simply. He took a bite of rabbit, and chewed it thoughtfully. “I feel a bit greedy with all this.”

“Why? Because you used the labor of a poor vagabond to make your ship?”

“Poor vagabond! That’s a fine way to put it Lord Maglor. And I don’t see you making any better use of your time.” Sam shook his head reprovingly at Maglor. “No, it’s just that I’ve had a full, happy life with my Rosie. We had as much joy as anyone could wish, and fine children who are a credit to us and the Shire. And after a beautiful life with more success than I could have ever hoped for, here I am trying to have my cake and eat it too. I haven’t ever heard of anyone getting two happy endings, but here we are.”

Maglor stared into the fire. “I’ve seen so many endings that seem to be an unending cascade of misery. It seems only right that some should get a double helping of happiness.” He shook himself and met Sam’s eyes. “And that it should be you, if half the songs are true.”

“Thank you kindly,” said Sam. “Though people say I’m a hero, when I look back and try to see where I could’ve done anything but what I did, I don’t see how I could have done differently.”

“What is fate and what is choice? A question for the philosophers, I think. I just know a good tale when I hear it.” Maglor finished his food and settled back. “Sing me a song, Samwise. We only have a few more nights together, and I wish to learn more hobbit poetry.”

“I will, if you’ll sing me one of the old songs again. Maybe one about the Trees again? They must’ve been such a beautiful sight.”

~

It took a couple of days before Sam was satisfied with the store of food.

“This must be twice as much as you need?” Maglor protested, after they filled a basket with nuts and another with tubers. “And besides, can’t you fish?”

“I fear I’ll get mighty tired of fish before I get to Valinor. And as I say, well done is better than well said. Best to be prepared.”

Sam awkwardly cleared his throat and continued. “You know, I’m also thinking extra food might be for extra mouths.”

“What extra mouths?” Maglor asked, squinting at Sam.

“Well, er, you. I’ve been thinking about your story, and thinking a bit about what a good ending for you should be.”

“I think it’s been written already. ‘he wandered ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves.’”

“Well, that was written quite a while ago, was it not? And forever is a very long time.”

“It is longer than I ever thought possible.”

“Hasn’t it been long enough?”

“I don’t know if those who I have slain would agree.”

Sam cleared his throat; they were getting to territory he was less certain about. “If I understand how elves work, you might be able to ask them yourself.”

“Are you suggesting that I go to Valinor and seek forgiveness from those I killed?”

“Hm, yes, yes I am. Seems only right — and you both might feel a sight better. I think I got all that right — I’d heard Lord Glorfindel was the same Lord as the one in the songs who fell with Gondolin. Very peculiar.”

“And what if that is what I fear? To face my accusers, and perhaps be dealt a worse punishment?” There was a tremor in Maglor’s disbelieving tone. 

“Well, I can’t say I blame you; I’d feel mighty bad if I did half the things you did. But you seem pretty miserable here, and as I’ve seen it, people feel better after they face up to what they’ve done.”

“I don’t think that’s the ending to my story.”

Maglor was squatting on the ground, gathering seed pods, so Sam was able to pat him on the back. “You’ll think about it.”

~

There was only so long he could delay though, and finally, bright and early one morning, Maglor helped Sam load up the ship.

Sam turned to Maglor. “So, are you coming with?”

“I cannot deny, the call of the sea has grown louder and louder, and since you offered me a place on your ship, it now threatens to drown out all thoughts. And to imagine seeing my mother again, and Elrond —” Maglor trailed off and stared west with intense longing.

Sam frowned; he wasn’t sure how Elrond figured into all this, but he supposed he was looking forward to seeing him too. 

“But I could never put you in such danger,” Maglor finished.

“Well, now that you mention it, you might be keeping me out of danger.” Sam carefully examined the ties on a pack to avoid meeting Maglor’s eyes. “You see, I don’t know the first thing about sailing.”

“You don’t —” Maglor gasped out, and then laughter overwhelmed him. Unlike that frightening night by the fire, this laughter was deep and genuine. It seemed to shake his very core and sent him to his knees. Finally, Maglor wiped his eyes and looked at Sam. Sam smiled sheepishly back at him.

“You have me well and truly cornered Samwise. If I come with you, you will likely founder at sea, for the way will not open to us. If you leave without me, you will likely founder at sea, unable to steer a course that will get you to Aman. How am I to choose?”

“What do you want to choose?” Sam said. “For I am prepared to try to journey alone. I have some notes that Bilbo left, and I read a bit about sailing, and besides, I have the feeling that I’m meant to make the trip, so I may find a way despite my incompetence.” He scratched his head. “And that makes me a bit more certain about you coming with too. If grace has been given to me — perhaps it's time for a bit of grace for yourself, or rather that’s what I would argue.” 

Maglor looked at Sam for a long time. His teasing smile faded, and finally Sam was faced with such unfathomable sorrow he had to look away.

“I do not share your faith, but perhaps your belief alone can carry us.”

A surprised smile lit up Sam’s face. “Ah! So you’ll come?”

Maglor sighed. “I still fear the worse, but if I do not take you up on this offer, my regret will increase tenfold.”

“Excellent! I think you’ll find I’ve packed most of your things already, but let’s gather up the last of it.” Sam hurried past Maglor, who was still shaking his head in amazement at Sam’s brazenness.

When the time came, Maglor climbed into the ship very carefully, for a moment looking more ancient than Sam could imagine. He knelt on the deck.

Sam cast off, unfurling the sail as best he could and trying to tip it to catch the wind. They slowly moved away from the shore, picking up speed as they went. The ropes went exactly where he wished them to, and the tiller leaped to his hand — elvish magic, no doubt.

Maglor began to sing, at first quietly, and then so his whole voice seemed to fill the bay. The song was still sad and filled with longing, but Sam thought he could detect a note of hope in the song. Perhaps that much was the imagination of a foolish old hobbit though. Sam set his back to the rising sun, and smiled at the approaching mouth of the bay, feeling better than he ever thought he’d feel on a boat. 

“I’ll be seeing you shortly, Mr. Frodo,” Sam murmured across the waves. 

Maglor’s song ended and he stood up. “Ron tuluvalnyë mélamar.” And so their hearts were loosed from the murmuring tug of the West as the sea bore them to white shores.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 "Yes, it is so"  
> 2 "You speak Quenya?"  
> 3 "Little"
> 
> "Ron tuluvalnyë mélamar” - Soon I will come home
> 
> I'm not an expert in Quenya, and translated using Elfdict.com and Omniglot.com.


End file.
